


Clowning Around

by Mable



Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: Clowns, Costumes and skinsuits, Horror, Minor Arthur Blythe (Fazbear Frights) cameo, Minor mentions of alcohol abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:40:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26963062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mable/pseuds/Mable
Summary: It's hard to not draw unwanted attention when you're dressed like a clown, as one man will learn when confronted by a strange man acting less than human...
Comments: 4
Kudos: 35





	Clowning Around

It helped if Scott just kept telling himself that he was doing this for the kids and not for money. Elsewise walking around in a clown costume might've been more degrading than it already was.

Normally, Scott would've never agreed to such a public event, but the fair-carnival-circus thing was sponsored by his church and they had been needing volunteers. Due to his history with heavy machinery, he had expected to be operating one of the small fair rides that had been brought in, but no. He had been caught at the last minute with the idea of being a clown, because he was quote-on-quote, "So good with children."

Now he really regretted not bringing up his former employer.

It was already bad enough that he simply wasn't the type to play the clown role well, stumbling through his words and looking like a deer in headlights when asked for anything specific, like a balloon animal. At least the makeup covered his scars well enough and nobody could tell he was wearing a prosthetic leg with the baggy pants. At least the stares were only because he was botching the delivery on being an entertainer.

But so far, everything was good. The kids were somewhat wary of him- as they would be of most clowns- but some came up and he tried to entertain them. More than a few adults either gave him looks akin to pity, akin to amusement, or the occasional wisecrack. Thankfully, Scott doubted anyone could recognize him in this get-up. All in all, it was going well enough. There were no problems.

And then Martin Holmes walked up.

Marty Holmes was well-known through the community as being an abrasive man with trouble controlling his drinking and temper. His ex-wife had started going to the church shortly before they got divorced and frequently showed up looking disheveled, with dark marks on her face. While she never said it was him, always having an excuse, Marty's reputation spread across town like wildfire.

In short, he was an aggressive alcoholic who was already carrying around a cup of unknown liquid. Scott expected nothing less than to be targeted, except something seemed different about Marty. He must've lost weight as his skin was beginning to hang, eyes drooped and face sunken in. He wore a baseball cap, but it looked like his hair thinned dramatically, and his usually flushed skin was unusually pale. Maybe he was sick.

Scott tried to focus on the task at hand by making a balloon sword. All he could really make consistently were swords and horses, so it was a relief that the kids actually seemed to like the balloon sword idea. He just hoped that Marty would move on relatively soon without making a scene.

Until he looked back and realized that Marty was staring at him very intensely. It was almost hard to see his eyes staring out under the drooped eyelids, but his body language made up for that. He stood totally alert and stared directly at Scott without blinking. It was making him increasingly uncomfortable.

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, the man spoke. "You're really good at that." His voice sounded low and gravelly, though Scott jumped like he had just been yelled at.

"Heh, uh, yeah. I've had a lot of practice," Scott said awkwardly. Another long pause followed. "...Do you want one?"

"Yes," Marty said. He didn't clarify what he wanted, so Scott assumed he meant a sword and began to make one. The man watched the whole time. He handed it over with a simple, "Here you go."

"Thanks." Marty took the sword stiffly. His movement was slow and stiff, and his arm dropped to his side. He looked back up at Scott again. "What's your name?"

"Err, it's Scott."

"That's a strange name for a clown," Marty said vacantly.

Scott got a strained smile. "I'm not a professional clown or anything. I'm just- It's just a favor for the church. You know, getting in some community service, making the kids happy." Maybe he shouldn't have mentioned the church. He just so desperately wished that one of them would disappear.

Marty hummed deeply, thoughtfully, and flexed his fingers on the cup. "Your kids?"

"No... Just kids in general. Kids from my- ***ahem*** -from around. Kids, you know." By now Scott was beginning to sweat, and he couldn't tell if it was from the wig, collar, and grease paint or from the man making him so uneasy. Unfortunately, his nerves kicked in, and he began to babble. "I don't have kids. No kids, no wife, just me living the bachelor life."

"Hmm..." Marty raised the cup and took a long swig of the fluid inside. When he pulled the cup away, there was something red and sticky dripping down his lips. Scott recognized it as candy apple syrup. He was drinking straight candy apple syrup, though inwardly Scott still thought he was probably drunk. "Do you like clowns?"

"I- Sure! But I was just doing this as a favor. I'm not a real clown, just some guy dressed like a clown," Scott awkwardly rambled.

Suddenly Marty smiled, and it was the most disturbing thing Scott had seen all night. His skin was like rubber as it stretched wide and opened to reveal a darkened mouth without any visible teeth. Just like a blackened pit.

"That's funny, because sometimes I feel like a clown _dressed like a guy_!" Marty rushed out as though saying a punchline that came out of nowhere, loudly, and followed with the most uncomfortable bout of repressed giggling that Scott had ever seen. His eyes were as wide as saucers as he watched it.

Until suddenly Marty tightened his grip too hard on the balloon sword and it popped under the strain. The man jolted upright and dropped his drink- or cup of syrup- and grew dead silent. It was surreal how silent and still he was with the music and fairgoers around him. He felt so jarringly out of place, like he didn't belong there.

Scott had to get out of this. His nerves were finally getting the best of him and he couldn't take much more of this without having a complete mental collapse. Swallowing down his anxiousness, he blew up another balloon. Marty began to watch him again as he made a second balloon sword and offered it over.

"Here you go," Scott said with a forced smile. "These balloons are kinda cheap, so just be careful with it... And there's a stall over there where you can get another drink. They've got lemonade, it's really good." He pointed over to the stall and Marty slowly looked in that direction. Scott awkwardly cleared his throat and rushed out, "If you pass back by, I might not be here. My shift's almost up so I'm going to be taking off the costume and heading home."

Marty's head turned back to him sluggishly and that dead-eyed stare stabbed through him again. Once again, a slow smile stretched across the man's mouth.

"You should keep it on. You make a good clown."

"Yeah, well, you know," Scott said in a non-answer. Then, much to his shock and relief, the strange man began to jauntily stride off towards the drink stall.

A chill raced down Scott's spine as he hurriedly off to the shed-like building that they were using as a dressing room and storage room. He changed out of the costume and into his normal clothes quickly and didn't even waste the time to clean off the greasepaint. Unfortunately, he wasn't quick enough. On his way out he was caught by none other than Father Blythe.

"Scott, I know you're leaving, but would you mind giving Mr. Holmes a ride home? I'm sorry to ask this of you when you've already done so much, but I can't get away long enough to do it myself." And he couldn't leave Marty there, because it was already a miracle that temper hadn't turned.

"Well, I… Sure, but are you sure he's ready to go? I, uh… I don't really want to get him riled," Scott said, trying to subtly weasel his way out.

"It's alright. In fact, Mr. Holmes asked Cathy if someone could give him a ride. He's over there by the door right now," he explained. There was something off about the timing of all this. "But if you would rather not, then it's fine. I can find someone else to do it," Father Blythe assured with a friendly smile. That's what did it, how nice he was being.

Scott felt guilty already trying to leave early and Father Blythe- Arthur- asked very little of him. So, he caved. "No, it's okay. I can drive him. It can't be that far…"

Father Blythe patted him thankfully on the shoulder and Scott numbly walked towards the exit. There was Marty already waiting for him, still holding the balloon sword. Scott approached him cautiously.

"Guess I'm going to be driving you home," he started awkwardly. Marty stared at him again with that stiffened back and sinking eyes. Scott cleared his throat and beckoned him to follow. "I parked over here. Come on, let's get you home." He could just tell from the rhythmic footsteps that Marty was doing that unsteady saunter again, but didn't dare look back.

Scott opened the door for Marty before getting in the driver's side and starting it up. "So… Which way to your place?" he asked.

Marty raised an arm and paused before suddenly pointing down the road. "That way," he said. Not much clarification, but Scott willingly began to drive. The sooner he got Marty out of the car and got home, the better. He tried not to think ill will of people, but there was a rotten smell coming from the man that was already filling the car. Not rotten like tooth decay either, but like road kill after a few days of sitting out.

The drive was largely uneventful. Marty continued to point directions and occasionally fiddled with and adjusted his shirt. At one point he reached a hand up underneath it and Scott caught a glimpse of loose skin rolls peeking out from the bottom of his shirt. It was as though the skin was hanging off of him. Had to be weight loss, Scott believed, and turned his attention back on the road.

He found it strange how far out of town they were, but considering Marty's reputation for being a loner, he wasn't too surprised that he lived completely alone. What he was surprised about was that they pulled up to an old, unfamiliar building. He couldn't tell what it was being used for from out here, but apparently Marty lived here. He parked outside the double doors.

"Well, here's our stop!" he said with a forced smile. "Hope you have a good night."

"Yes…" Marty stared ahead through the windshield for a few, long seconds. Then he looked to Scott and said, "I want to show you something."

"…Inside?" Scott asked nervously.

"No." Marty reached partially under his shirt and pulled out what looked like a mask. That must've been what he was fooling with under his shirt. He slowly handed it over to Scott who took it reluctantly. The mask was heavy and made of some kind of plated metal instead of fabric. It made his stomach turn, if only because it looked like something that would've come off an animatronic. "Do you like it?" Marty quietly asked.

"What a coincidence, here you've got a clown mask and here I was dressing like a clown. Heh, maybe they should've hired us both," Scott rambled.

"Do you like it?"

"Err- Sure. It's, uh… Well made." Scott pressed the nose and it let out a crunchy squeak. Probably needed to be cleaned. "Reminds me of that old Circus Baby's Pizza that was supposed to open." Marty made a wheezing noise and Scott glanced over, only to freeze up when he saw that wide smile stretched on the man's face. "…So, I bet you want to get inside and take your shoes off-."

"Would- W-Would you like to see me without my costume on?" Marty asked. His voice sounded wrong, high and strained, like he was about to start laughing at any second. Scott would've thought it was a poorly timed joke if not for how serious he sounded. He started to lean back against the driver's door, almost like he was prepared to run.

"No- No thanks. You should just take your mask a-and go on inside. It's getting pretty late," Scott said. He held out the mask shakily, but instead of taking it, Marty reached up for his shirt buttons. He tried to undo them with clumsy fingers. "No, don't- please don't take your clothes off. Just go inside and-…" Marty finally got frustrated enough to slip his fingers between the buttons and start to slowly rip it open. Scott trailed off as he saw what was hiding underneath.

Straight down Marty's chest and belly was a deep wound. The skin was pulled into it and pressed together, like surgical glue holding a wound closed, but from the darkness in the crack it was clear that the wound was not sealed. The skin around it was loose and sinking in, which only became more obvious when something began sliding around and moving underneath it. Like snakes wriggling underneath.

"What is that?!" Scott yelped. He dropped the mask in the seat as he pressed further back against the car door. "Stop! _Stop!_ "

But it didn't stop. Instead the deep incision on the man's chest began to open up and revealed his guts. Except they weren't guts. They weren't flesh and blood and bone.

They were wires. Dozens of metal wires snaked and wrapped together, writhing inside of him. Scott looked up at the man's face just in time to see it deform. The skin of his head sliding upwards and concaving as his neck widened, like his own skull was sliding out of his skin.

Except it wasn't his skin. It was Marty's skin, and this thing was wearing it as its costume.

An arm suddenly shot out from the belly and landed on the arm rest. The wires weaved together to make a hand that slowly started to reach further towards Scott. Horrified by all he was seeing, Scott screamed and frantically turned to get the door open. His last glimpse was of a mass of metal rising out of what was once Marty Holmes' husk.

He fumbled with the door before getting it open and trying to jump out. Something caught his leg and he found himself falling onto the asphalt face first. Uninjured, he rolled over to find the hand now snaring his good ankle. As though knowing he was about to try to escape, the grip tightened painfully, forcing him to watch and listen as it finished crawling out of Marty's skin.

The wires had formed something akin to an endoskeleton once freed of their covering. Its head hung downwards as it felt around with its other hand until it found the mask on the floorboard. It lifted it under its hanging head, there was a dull clicking sound, and then the creature raised its head to reveal the mask- its faceplates- now locked on. The face of a clown on an unnaturally twisted body.

Now Scott began to panic and with it came his fight. He wildly kicked back at the clown as he tried to push himself back with his hands. It didn't matter how many times he kicked, the grip didn't loosen. It didn't matter how many inches he scooted away, because all at once he was dragged back, palms scraping on the asphalt.

It leaned out from the driver's seat and stared down at him. It wide eyes fixated and it needle teeth stuck in a sharp grin.

" _ **W-Wh-What's wrong Sc-Sc-Scott? I tho-o-ought you LIKed clOWNS?!"**_ it asked in a broken voice, sounding overjoyed. It burst into excited, stuttering laughter as it began to reel him in by the leg. _**"Why d-d-don't yOU come INSIDE?! I've got- I've got- I've got a place w-w-waiting jUST for US."**_

Scott wondered if that was the same place it took Marty. It made him feel sick, made him realize he was completely at its mercy, and that nobody would be looking for him for days. Nobody would find him in time.

He could only hope he was entertaining enough to keep alive.


End file.
